


throw some glitter, make it rain

by thunderylee



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12416037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Kitayama buys inappropriate birthday presents.





	throw some glitter, make it rain

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for kink bingo.

Something everyone knows about Kitayama Hiromitsu is that he’s a huge troll. He’s the first one to point out when someone makes a mistake, provokes the others at every opportunity, and mocks any statement or question that could be taken in an unfavorable way. Though it sounds unpleasant when put into words like this, he’s not that bad of a guy to be around. At the very least, he’s entertaining.

Something no one but EbiKisu know about Kitayama is that he’s a huge pervert. He has a large collection of questionable porn hidden under his bed because he still lives with his mother, an endless supply of dirty puns, and more notches in other people’s bedposts than he’ll admit to. He says things that make even Tamamori blush, and that one has a reputation as a freak in bed.

He’s also infamous amongst the two groups for purchasing inappropriate birthday gifts. Thanks to him, all of the members have a collection of novelties such as cheap sex toys, household items shaped like breasts or penises, or dirty games. Fujigaya was the latest victim, though he got off easy this year with a container of rainbow body glitter. (“Because your favorite color is rainbow, right?” Kitayama had teased him.) Nikaido is next, and Fujigaya fears for what’s in the phallic-shaped box in the shiny red wrapping paper.

The body glitter actually proved useful in their latest PV filming, though Fujigaya was disappointed to learn that it didn’t show up at all in the video. Perhaps it was overshadowed by the ridiculous eye makeup and lighting, but at least he sparkled for awhile. Fujigaya likes things that sparkle – this is one of the reasons why he’s in JE.

“Hey,” Kitayama approaches him after the video is all said and done. It’s some ungodly hour in the morning, but Fujigaya’s tension is always high after dancing and he knows that it will be almost sunrise before he winds down. “Are you actually wearing the glitter I got you for your birthday?”

“Yes,” Fujigaya answers, a bit on edge. With this one, he never knows if he’s about to be ridiculed or humiliated in front of the others. “I thought it would go with the whole Ke$ha vibe.”

Kitayama laughs. “Glad to see someone putting my thoughtful gifts to use. I spend a lot of time picking those out, you know.”

“I’m sure you do.” Fujigaya shrugs him off – which isn’t that difficult since Kitayama can’t reach his shoulders – and heads to the sink to wash his face. It takes a while to scrub off all the makeup, and when he’s done, Kitayama is still standing there, watching him. “What?”

“Do you have it with you?” Kitayama asks.

Fujigaya nods, reaching into his bag for the container. “Here.”

Kitayama’s face looks contemplative as he takes the container and opens it. Curiously Fujigaya watches him, leaning back against the sink while Kitayama takes some of the glitter between his fingers and rubs them together. Then he turns towards Fujigaya, his eyes lighting up. “Stay still.”

His finger is already on Fujigaya’s face before the latter can even react, but it’s nothing painful. In fact, it feels interesting to have someone else pressing the grainy substance into his skin. Fujigaya stares at Kitayama’s concentrating eyes as he makes stroke after stroke, moving to the other cheek after he finishes with the first.

When he’s done, Fujigaya’s cheeks are strangely warm. “Did you write your name?”

“I did,” Kitayama answers. “You’re my property now. Your face says so.”

Fujigaya spins around to look in the mirror, breathing a sigh of relief when all he sees are multi-colored sparkles. Upon closer scrutiny, however, he can distinguish both of the kanji for Kitayama’s last name, one on each cheek. He’s looking so hard that he doesn’t notice Kitayama standing right next to him, making him jump when he feels a light touch to his arm.

“Hold _still_ ,” Kitayama grumbles, like this is completely normal and how dare Fujigaya move when Kitayama is writing on him with body glitter.

“What are you even –” Fujigaya starts, cut off by a hissed “shhh!” from the other. He feels like he should be frustrated about this, but he’s more curious than anything, his eyes locked on Kitayama’s finger as he tries to figure out what being written on him.

“Can you read it?” Kitayama asks casually.

Fujigaya shakes his head, not trusting his voice. His skin tingles where Kitayama had made contact, and the last thing he wants is for Kitayama to know how this is affecting him.

“I’ll do it again,” Kitayama says. “Close your eyes and try to feel it.”

He doesn’t use anymore glitter, just scrawls over what’s already there, and Fujigaya closes his eyes against his better judgment. His breath wants to come faster but he won’t let it, focusing on his deep breathing while Kitayama finishes his secret message.

“Well?”

“I don’t know what it says,” Fujigaya answers, slowly lifting his eyelids to find Kitayama frowning at him. “Sorry.”

“I guess you’ll never know then,” Kitayama tells him, his eyes unreadable. “Will you let me draw on you?”

Fujigaya suppresses a shiver at the thought, playing it off as being taken aback. “Why?”

Shrugging, Kitayama turns the glitter container around and around in his hands. “I don’t know. I just want to.”

“Okay,” Fujigaya agrees before he fully thinks this through. Kitayama’s always doing spontaneous shit like this; what’s the worst that could happen?

“Cool.” Kitayama screws the top on the container and returns it to Fujigaya. “I’ll meet you at your place after I grab a shower.”

“I—what?” Fujigaya replies. “Why are we going to my place?”

“Because I still live at home,” Kitayama answers, pointedly like it’s the obvious answer, and Fujigaya’s so astounded by the situation that Kitayama’s already gone by the time he can focus again.

Fujigaya’s mind is clouded the whole way home, where he washes the sweat off of himself and changes clothes. He’s not sure what one should wear to be a human canvas, but he figures a tank top and shorts are good enough.

He’s still drying his hair when Kitayama arrives, strolling right in like he lives there and eyeing Fujigaya like he’s looking for something wrong with him. Fujigaya raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“You washed your face,” Kitayama observes.

“I took a shower,” Fujigaya tells him, pointing to his hair. “That’s kind of inevitable in the process.”

Kitayama hrmphs and surveys Fujigaya’s small apartment. “Where are you the most comfortable?”

“In my recliner,” Fujigaya answers, and Kitayama nods as he walks over to the aforementioned piece of furniture and motions for him to sit.

With a deep breath, Fujigaya crosses the room and plops into his recliner. He has no idea why his heart is beating so fast, nor why Kitayama hovering over him is making him so anxious. He yelps when Kitayama just straddles his thighs and takes his face in his hands, peering at Fujigaya’s features close up.

“You have really nice skin,” he murmurs, and Fujigaya starts to take his bottom lip into his mouth until he feels Kitayama’s finger outlining it. He expects him to say more, but he just opens the container and dips his fingertip into it, returning to Fujigaya’s cheeks, and Fujigaya realizes he’s reapplying his name where it had washed off.

“You want me to be your property that bad?” Fujigaya asks, intending for it to be a joke, but it falls flat as Kitayama just shakes his head at him and moves on.

“Close your eyes,” is all he says, and Fujigaya lets his eyes slip shut. “And keep them closed.”

Ordinarily he’d be creeped out by this arrangement, but this is Kitayama. The worst thing Kitayama would do is replace the body glitter with actual paint and draw something incriminating that won’t wash off right away. As Fujigaya is confident in his abilities to tell the difference between glitter and paint from the texture alone, he isn’t too worried.

Kitayama draws on his forehead first, little symbols that Fujigaya can’t identify other than that they’re not words. His fingertips brush over Fujigaya’s eyelids and it feels weird, like when the makeup girls apply his eyeshadow but with something else that lingers. Something lingers in the wake of all of Kitayama’s drawings, actually. Maybe the glitter elicits a physical reaction.

Dry, glitter-free fingers urge his chin up, and Fujigaya sucks on his air as Kitayama starts drawing on his neck. He thinks there are words this time, but he can’t tell what they are. Suddenly he really wants to know, because it seems logical that he should be aware of what someone else is writing on his body.

“What are you writing?” he asks.

“If you want to know, try to feel it,” Kitayama replies, and Fujigaya narrows his closed eyes. “It’s not that hard if you concentrate.”

Fujigaya tries to concentrate, and after awhile he can make out certain hiragana. That’s not very helpful in deciphering the actual message, which has navigated down to his collarbone and around his shoulder. It’s at this point he accepts that the touch feels quite nice, more concerned with the act of it happening than what it says.

“I’d have more room if it wasn’t for this shirt,” Kitayama grumbles, and the next second has Fujigaya reaching over his head to yank off the tank top. “That’s better. Now lean forward.”

Fujigaya does as he’s told, feeling the hard bone of Kitayama’s shoulder on his forehead as the glitter touch relocates to his back. Kitayama’s probably writing upside-down this way, and Fujigaya finds that he can ‘read’ the words now. Though after the first few, he wishes he couldn’t; they’re all filthy, words and phrases he wouldn’t even use verbally, and he’s just glad that Kitayama can’t see his face anymore because he it has to be bright red.

_bend you over this chair, enter you hard, fill you so much you’ll feel it for a week_. Fujigaya supposes he missed the actions leading up to this part, though knowing Kitayama he may have started out that way. He tries to turn it off, but he can’t – or rather, the curious part still wants to know – and his mind is filled with the words Kitayama’s inscribing onto his back, inquiring how tight his ass would be and whether he would scream or not.

“I’d definitely scream,” he thinks out loud, and everything pauses. Neither one moves, Kitayama’s finger remaining where it was while Fujigaya’s forehead presses into Kitayama’s shoulder. Fujigaya opens his eyes and looks down, seeing Kitayama’s jeans stretched across his own thighs with what could be a bulge in his fly; it’s hard to tell in jeans. And Kitayama’s packing to begin with, if the tight teal pants earlier were anything to go by.

Then there’s a light pressure on his shoulders and Fujigaya snaps his eyes shut as Kitayama guides him back into a sitting position. He leans back against the cushion of the recliner, uncaring as to whether he gets glitter on it or not, and focuses on calming his breathing while he waits to see (feel) what Kitayama will do next.

What he does is pick up where he left off, though he’s drawing pictures again and Fujigaya learns that his chest is much more sensitive than his back or arms. Kitayama’s fingers skate across his pectorals and his breath hitches before he can stop it, though he stops his resulting noise before it comes out. Fujigaya is pretty sure it would have been a moan.

Kitayama drops to his abdomen next, starling Fujigaya enough to gasp as the man in his lap draws what feels like squiggly lines along the bottom of his picture. Just above it are two half circles, followed by a long cylinder, and Fujigaya’s face heats up at the realization of what it is. He has no idea why Kitayama is drawing a penis on his stomach, aside from being mentally twelve years old, at least until he starts running all four of his fingers over it and rubbing the spot where the tip would be.

Then his touch drops further down the ‘shaft’ and Fujigaya nearly jumps out of the chair when he feels something hot and wet licking his skin. It flicks along the glitter cock and Fujigaya can’t stop himself from lifting his hand, his own fingers finding Kitayama’s soft hair and sifting through it. He should be pulling him away, kicking him out of his apartment and vowing never to be alone with him again, but it feels so good that he can’t do anything but arch his back.

“Is this stuff even edible?” he asks, not recognizing his own voice with how breathy it is.

“I hope so,” Kitayama replies, pressing the words into Fujigaya’s skin, and Fujigaya tries not to let his disappointment show as Kitayama’s tongue leaves him. He sits back up, Fujigaya’s hand falling from his hair and landing on a denim-clad thigh, and Fujigaya leaves it there. The muscles flex under his touch as Kitayama’s next words are whispered into his ear. “How do you feel?”

“Hot,” Fujigaya answers instantly, though the strip of his stomach where Kitayama had been licking him was chilling from being exposed to the air.

“Hot like a high temperature or hot like you’re turned on?” Kitayama’s lips are right against the shell of his ear, and Fujigaya jerks when he feels a flick of tongue along his tragus.

“Both,” Fujigaya admits, and now his whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“Tell me,” Kitayama goes on, his voice sinfully low as his fingers return to Fujigaya’s chest, this time tracing aimlessly. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

“I can’t,” Fujigaya replies, suddenly frustrated. “I don’t… have the words.”

“I make you speechless,” Kitayama says with a chuckle. “That’s nice.”

Fujigaya frowns, though the other man can’t see it. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you like it,” Kitayama croons, now dragging his lips along the shell of Fujigaya’s ear. “That you’re thinking about acting out the words I wrote on you. How it all affects you physically.”

One of Kitayama’s hands trails down Fujigaya’s chest, and Fujigaya bites his lip. The fingers stop at his waistband, but his wrist bumps the erection that Fujigaya didn’t even know he had until right now, and he can’t contain his gasp.

“Tell me,” Kitayama hisses, “and I’ll keep going.”

“I like it,” Fujigaya blurts out, his words all coming in a rush. “I’m thinking about it, even though I don’t want to. And it’s obvious how it affects me, you sadist.”

Now Kitayama chuckles, lowering his hand to grope Fujigaya through his shorts, and this time Fujigaya’s moan flows freely. “Oh, that’s nice. Let me hear you this way, then.”

This is something Fujigaya can do, and easily. He lets his head fall back as his hips push up against Kitayama’s hand, at least as much as he can move with Kitayama’s entire weight on his thighs. His moans are low and airy and Kitayama’s mouth drops to his jaw, pressing wet kisses to his skin as he squeezes Fujigaya’s length.

Fujigaya’s first instinct is to stop him when he reaches for the button of his shorts, but then Kitayama’s hand is around him and he can’t do anything but moan some more, turning his head to the side to direct them right into Kitayama’s ear.

“Mm, Taisuke, you’re so hard.” Kitayama twists his wrist as he strokes Fujigaya from base to tip and back down again. “Open your eyes.”

The light is too bright after not looking at it for so long, but he looks down to see his cock jumping in Kitayama’s hand, which apparently still has glitter on it because it’s all over him. “You got glitter on me.”

“Shall I write you something here?” Kitayama asks, sounding facetious, and Fujigaya rolls his eyes until Kitayama strokes him again and they roll back into his head instead.

“No, you should put your filthy mouth to better use,” Fujigaya replies, already tensing at the thought of Kitayama’s lips around him, and he shudders under the deep chuckle Kitayama presses into his neck.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Kitayama says flatly. “What’s in it for me?”

“Um…” Fujigaya trails off, his face burning at the admission he doesn’t want to make.

Now Kitayama’s voice is positively sinful, speaking into his throat. “Will you let me do what I wrote on your back?”

He squeezes his fingers right after asking the question and Fujigaya arches so much that he lifts Kitayama up a bit from the force. “Not that way,” he finally says. “Face to face.”

“Deal.” Kitayama mouths his way up to Fujigaya’s lips, which part in a gasp as he kisses him properly. That tongue sweeps along the inside of his lips before plunging inside, meeting Fujigaya’s that responds just as fiercely. This time Kitayama’s breath hitches and Fujigaya feels proud at eliciting that kind of reaction from him, his own hands latching onto Kitayama’s muscled thighs and moving up.

Then everything disappears, Kitayama’s mouth and hand and even the weight on his lap; Fujigaya’s eyes fly open to find the other man between his legs, licking his lips as he eyes Fujigaya’s cock. It’s covered with so much glitter that Fujigaya almost laughs, but then Kitayama’s leaning forward to lick the tip and he moans instead, his fingers returning to the other man’s hair.

“Fuck,” he growls, hips rolling into the promising wet heat, and Kitayama just parts his lips to take him in. “Mitsu.”

Kitayama makes an acknowledging noise, but Fujigaya’s cock is halfway in his mouth and he really doesn’t want him to remove it to speak. As it is Fujigaya’s fighting to keep his eyes open and trained on the sight between his legs, his length disappearing past those lips while Kitayama watches what is probably a very contorted face of ecstasy.

Then Kitayama gets far enough to swallow around the head, driving up Fujigaya’s noises even more, and Fujigaya’s fingers tighten in Kitayama’s hair as he starts to move back and forth. It feels so good that Fujigaya can hardly keep himself under control, a moaning, squirming mess as Kitayama’s mouth works him.

He notices Kitayama reach into his pocket and has a pretty good idea what for, helpfully lifting his hips when Kitayama tugs down his shorts and underwear to leave him completely undressed. Hands press on the insides of his thighs and he spreads them, only feeling a little shameful as he basically fucks Kitayama’s mouth.

Even though he expects it, he still jumps at the first touch to his rim, sending his cock even further down Kitayama’s throat. Kitayama takes it, sucking him harder as he circles the tight muscle to loosen him up. It works and Kitayama pushes one finger inside him, then two, curling them together and prodding deep until he finds that spot that has Fujigaya crying out and coming hard on Kitayama’s tongue.

Kitayama’s fingers don’t leave him, stretching him even more as he returns to the cushion of the recliner, this time kneeling between Fujigaya’s spread legs. “Does this thing go down?”

Fujigaya answers him by pulling the lever, falling backwards with Kitayama on top of him, Kitayama’s arousal evident against Fujigaya’s bare thigh. Fujigaya thinks about how that will feel inside him and his body rocks with want, his hand returning to Kitayama’s hair to pull him back into his mouth. He tastes himself and it’s enticing, leading him to kiss Kitayama harder, his moan muffled when Kitayama’s fingers hit that spot again.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” Kitayama mutters against his lips, and the words sound even filthier in his voice. “You said you’d definitely scream, so you better let me hear it.”

Fujigaya feels a third finger go in and now he’s pushing back against them, out of control of his own body that is adamant about taking Kitayama in as deep as physically possible. His arms latch onto Kitayama’s shoulders just for something to hold onto, and he’s almost disgusted at the realization that his shirt is still on. He tugs at it until Kitayama yanks it over his head, followed by the rest of his clothes that are kicked off as his fingers leave Fujigaya’s body in favor of rolling on a condom, his low groan evident as he lubes his own length.

“Ask for it,” Kitayama hisses into his mouth, falling out of their kiss as his lips trail down Fujigaya’s throat to his collarbone. “Tell me to fuck you.”

“Fuck me,” Fujigaya says automatically, bracing himself for the initial penetration. It only hurts a little bit, Kitayama uncharacteristically gentle as he eases himself all the way inside and doesn’t move right away. He’s gasping into Fujigaya’s skin, his breath tickling the remaining grains of glitter that stick to Kitayama’s face as he leans up on his elbows to look at him.

“Okay?” he asks, and Fujigaya just nods. Kitayama starts to move and they both moan at the same time, an intimate harmony that distorts into different rhythms as Kitayama thrusts into him.

“Mitsu,” Fujigaya gets out, both hands clinging to Kitayama’s back that flexes under his touch, his legs spread wide enough to hang off the arms of the recliner. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah,” Kitayama agrees, dropping his head back to Fujigaya’s chest as he pounds into him harder, grazing that spot and granting his wish to hear Fujigaya scream. “Oh god, that sounds beautiful.”

“More.” The words spill out of Fujigaya’s mouth without active thought. “I want to feel you come deep inside me.”

Kitayama groans into his skin. “Now who has a filthy mouth?”

“This is your fault,” Fujigaya points out. “So shut up and fuck me.”

“Gladly,” Kitayama replies, snapping his hips so fast that the recliner starts rocking beneath them. “Ah, I’m close.”

He gets in one more thrust against that spot before they’re both moaning loudly, Kitayama clinging onto him as Fujigaya feels his cock pulse. All at once Kitayama relaxes, stretching out on top of Fujigaya and pulling out as Fujigaya lowers his legs with a hiss.

“You have glitter on your nose,” Fujigaya tells him, because he does.

Kitayama laughs with his next harsh exhale. “You have glitter on your _dick_.”

Rolling his eyes, Fujigaya lifts his arms over his head and jumps when he feels Kitayama’s fingers on his chest, now mixing the glitter with the sweat of their efforts. He laughs when he realizes that Kitayama’s writing his name again.

“Mine,” Kitayama says firmly, and Fujigaya humors him with his silence. For now.


End file.
